


Brother Knows Best

by Honeybeebatch



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Big Brother Mycroft, Blind Date, M/M, Mother Complex, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Mycroft Holmes Being Mother at Teatime, Mycroft To The Rescue, Mycroft's Meddling, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-10 06:35:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12906225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Honeybeebatch/pseuds/Honeybeebatch
Summary: Synopsis: Brother knows best, listen to your brother, it’s a scary world out there…Written for a prompt that I did on Twitter: alternative meeting AU where Mycroft is a mother hen trying to set Sherlock up with a nice man and texts him ‘the man in the lift is an ex-army doctor’ as John steps out of the lift in New Scotland Yard to follow up on an incident that happened in his building.





	Brother Knows Best

Here he was again.

Sherlock sipped at the expensive tea that his brother seemed to favour, it had become something of a weekly meeting between the two of them now. Mycroft would summon him to one of his preferred locations, this time they were at the Diogenes club. It was a poor attempt by his brother to stop him from causing a scene. Hopelessly, he put the cup and saucer onto the small table beside him and look at his brother.

“Well?” He raised an eyebrow expectantly.

“I just wanted to see how you are,” Mycroft said with little conviction.

“You have CCTV and minions for that,” Sherlock scoffed.

“Fine.” Mycroft crossed one long leg over the other. “I wanted to _chat.”_

 “We never _chat.”_ He said with the same disdain his brother did.

“Mummy prefers I keep an eye on you.”

“You prefer to keep an eye on me.” Sherlock corrected.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and muttered. “Brotherly affection.”

“We don’t do brotherly affection.”

“No.”

“You have something for me, I presume.” Sherlock picked up his cup and took a rather large gulp of the scalding hot tea. It was a little bourgeois for his taste but the heaps of sugar redeemed the beverage.

Mycroft rose to his feet and collected a pile of papers from his desk. He crossed the room and handed them to Sherlock, only pausing when the younger Holmes hesitated in taking them.

“More?” Sherlock moaned.

Mycroft retook his seat and placed his forefinger on his cheek. “Something for you to consider.”

“Don’t you mean someone,” came the snide remark as he flicked through the papers.

Mycroft watched a look of disgust flash on his brother’s face. “Anybody?”

“There never is, Mycroft.” Sherlock slammed the papers onto the table.

“It was worth a try,” he sighed.

“You could stop.”

“I worry about you constantly.” Mycroft reminded him. It was something of a mantra.

“A man isn’t going to fix that,” Sherlock told him as he picked up and finished the rest of his tea.

Mycroft uncrossed his legs and lent forward, “he might make you happy.”

“I’m happy.” Sherlock’s brow furrowed.

“Are you?”

“Goodbye, Mycroft.” Sherlock picked up his coat and strode out of the office. He made sure to let the door slam on his way out, served him right the interfering mother hen. It wasn’t as though Sherlock wasn’t nagged enough to find a man by his mother, he didn’t need Mycroft encouraging such behaviour.

  

* * *

 

 

It was two days before he heard from Mycroft again.

There was a text.

 _Roger Harris_.

Sherlock typed a response at rapid speed.

_Sounds boring. SH_

The response was immediate.

_He's a lawyer._

_As I said, boring. SH_

_Don’t be so childish._

_At least I’m not being a mother hen. SH_

_Meet him, at least._

_No. SH_

The response came a minute later.

_This isn’t over._

Sherlock smiled to himself. It may not be over but it was postponed, that was something.

  

* * *

 

 

The next day Mycroft just happened to turn up at New Scotland Yard with a tall blonde man dressed in a grey suit. Sherlock looked up as they approach with a mixture of expressions crossing his features, the first was mild shock, then disbelief, followed by annoyance. Sherlock straightened up and placed his hands on his hips as the pair approached. They stopped. Mycroft looked professional but smug and his companion looked like a cat eyeing up a bowl of cream. His eyes roamed over Sherlock.

“What are you doing here?” He asked already knowing the answer. To set him up.

“I have some case files on hold from Lestrade. I was in the area.” The government official answered.

“And you just happened to bring a friend.”

Mycroft faked a smile, “Anton here is shadowing me for the day.”

“Hey,” Anton spoke up with a devilish smile.

“I don’t have time for this right now.” Sherlock rubbed his forehead.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Mycroft argued.

“Go away.” The blonde’s smile dropped. “Now!”

Anton walked back towards the lift with his tail between his legs.

“There was no need for rudeness.” Mycroft lifted the tip of his umbrella off of the floor and examined it.

“Bugger off.”

  

* * *

 

 

When Sherlock walked out of Lestrade’s office to retrieve the awful but caffeinated coffee for himself he was on the verge of berating Anderson for his continuing stupidity. His pocket buzzed and he dug inside for his phone. There was a blur of emails and a new message from Mycroft. He sighed to himself and opened the message.

_The man in the lift is an ex-army doctor._

He tapped out a reply. _And? SH_

His phone buzzed with the response.

_I have not sent him to you._

Sherlock pocketed his phone and picked up the cup of bitter coffee. He wasn’t interested, the man could be Brad Pitt for all he cared. There was no way he was taking Mycroft’s dating help, it wasn’t going to happen. But he turned slightly and angled his body towards the lift.

He took a sip of the coffee and instantly regretted it. No amount of sugar would save it now.

The lift doors opened with a ping and the man that stepped out was, well, smaller than Sherlock thought that he would be. His skin was still tanned from his time overseas and his body looked in fine shape despite the limp as he stepped into the homicide department. He wore a pale shirt over a white top with a brown leather jacket which was dotted with rain as was his hair. His blue eyes looked around naïvely and Sherlock thought it was rather endearing, ever the diligent soldier.  

Sherlock swallowed the bitter taste lingering on his tongue and pushed himself off of the counter. He walked with purpose, purpose, and confidence over to the ex-army doctor.

“Captain.” He greeted with a small smile.

The blonde jerked slightly at the familiar term of address from a stranger. He straightened slightly and nodded his head. “Are you…do you work here?”

“Sort of.” Sherlock brushed the question off.

“Sort of?” He repeated with a frown.

“I consult with the police on occasion.”

“Right, I’m John. John Watson.”

“Sherlock Holmes.” Sherlock extended his hand.

The shorter man considered it for half a second before switching his cane to his other hand. He took his hand and shook it firmly. “I just wanted to check something.”

Sherlock’s hand dropped back to his side. “The attempted murder in your building.”

“How did you?” his brow furrowed, “are you on the case?!

“Not exactly,” Sherlock felt his cheeks heating up. “The ex-boyfriend did it, in case you were wondering.”

“So, you’ve caught him?”

“No, the police will figure it out eventually.”

“I thought you were the police.”

“I do not work for the police, I work with them on occasion. Pay attention, John.”

John frowned. “Right.”

“I was about to get a coffee, would you care to join me?”

“Here? Now?”

“Yes and no but the other way around.” Sherlock babbled.

“Are you asking me out?” John lowered his voice and edged closer to the taller man.

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“If you say yes.” Sherlock was not used to feeling vulnerable.  

“Yes.”

“Yes,” Sherlock repeated.

For the first time since he’d walked into the building John smiled. “Yes, if it’s still on offer.”

“There’s a good place a couple of streets over.”

“I’m slower than I used to be,” John mentioned looking down at his leg.

“Psychosomatic.” He said beneath his breath.

“What?”

Sherlock cleared his throat, “It’s psychosomatic.”

“How did you?” He cut himself off with a frown that formed a pout.

Sherlock was sure his cheeks were red now. “I-”

“Wait.”

Sherlock’s lips pursed together.

John continued, “Tell me over coffee.”

Sherlock found himself smiling as he nodded.

As they stood side by side in the lift, Sherlock tapped a text to his brother.

_This one isn't a complete idiot. SH_

_No need to say thank you._

_Thank you. SH_


End file.
